


Terrible Two (Hundred)s

by damtoti



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Crack, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:07:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26550373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damtoti/pseuds/damtoti
Summary: America throws a tantrum during a meeting. England is unperturbed.
Relationships: America & England (Hetalia)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	Terrible Two (Hundred)s

**Author's Note:**

> Something silly I wrote a while back on the HKM.

From an outsider’s perspective, the representatives inside the soundproof conference room were in the middle of a serious and heated debate. Each of them would stand and speak in turn, their words received by enthusiastic nods of approval or severe displays of rejection, often represented by someone jumping out of their seat and flinging their papers into the air.

“They must be working so hard,” an office assistant whispered to his coworker as they passed by. “I can’t say I blame them. Global issues aren’t easy to solve.”

In reality, however, the nations were arguing over the lunch menu for next week's meeting. It would be England’s turn to host, and no one wanted to eat anything _he’d_ prepared. So England had acquiesced and agreed to cater from a nearby restaurant. Now, the only problem was selecting _which_ restaurant.

France critiqued everyone’s taste in food while offering no solutions of his own. Germany pulled out a calculator and began calculating the cost of catering from each restaurants within a five kilometer radius. Spain threw out suggestions that were both impractical and impossible. Japan didn’t care for any of the ideas, but kept his responses neutral so as to not offend anyone.

“I know!” Veneziano piped up. “Romano and I will cook for everyone, since everyone loves our food!”

“That sure as hell isn’t happening, you idiot! You think I want to work as their slave? Have them come to my home and critique _my_ cooking?” Romano enunciated each sentence with a smack, ignoring Veneziano’s protests that they’d actually get paid and no one would be visiting their home.

“So how’s this?” America said when it came his turn to pitch, “I just checked and there’s a McDonalds a short drive from the building. Before the meeting I’ll stop by and order a ton of food, which should only be like twenty dollars or euros or whatever, but England can pay me back if he feels like it. And everyone can eat as many Big Macs, chicken nuggets, and fries as they like.”

When he finished, he was beaming from ear to ear, and he gazed upon the crowd as if expecting a round of applause.

“No,” England said.

America’s smile faltered. “What do you _mean_ , ‘no’?”

“No, we’re not getting McDonalds, or any fast food for that matter. Come up with something else, or we’ll move on to the next speaker.”

“But why _not?_ ”

“Because it’s unhealthy, and we have more class than that.”

“So you want to spend _more_ money on bullshit that won’t taste as good?”

“Exactly.”

Although subtle, it was evident that America’s bottom lip was trembling. He clenched his fists. “But I _want_ McDonalds!”

“That’s too bad,” England said, waving him off. “Well then, who’s next?”

“No!” America shouted. “I _want_ McDonalds. I want us _all_ to eat McDonalds!”

“Sit down, America. Unless you have a better suggestion to offer.”

“Eng- _land!_ I want it, I want it, I want it, I _waaaant_ it!” By now, he had more than just England’s attention. It wasn’t uncommon for America to act childish or whiny, but at this point his voice had risen to a near shriek.

“That’s enough, America! Return to your seat at once!” England snapped.

Without warning, America seized his chair and hurled it toward the wall. It shattered on impact. He turned to England as if to say, _See, I told you I’d do it_.

Russia giggled. Germany pushed away his calculator, frowning.

“W-What’s happening?” Veneziano whispered to Romano, only to find that his older brother was already cowering behind him.

England, on the other hand, didn’t bat an eye. He took a long breath, massaged his temples, and said, “What are you doing? You’re making a scene.”

America glared at the floor, a few tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. “I want m’hundred-piece McNuggets,” he mumbled.

“Not at the meeting, I’m afraid.”

“You’re being unfair! You never buy me McDonalds and I _want_ McDonalds! I HATE YOU!” America stomped his foot.

Germany finally stood up. “America, this type of behavior is unacceptable! Stop it immediately!”

This only seemed to encourage America, who broke out into a scream just short of causing ears to bleed. He threw himself to the ground and began pounding his fists against the floor. “We’re gonna get McDonalds for the meeting! We’re gonna! Say so, England! Please! _Pleeeeaaase!_ I asked nicely so you hafta let me!”

France side-eyed England, as if to say, _This is the nation you raised? It’s no surprise he turned out like this_. What he actually said was, “ _Angleterre_ , please. If it will calm him down, just tell him you will order his trash cuisine.”

England made a soft sound of disapproval. “No, giving in will just encourage him to act out again.”

“Then what _can_ we do to make him stop?” Germany asked, glaring at England as if America’s outburst was somehow his fault.

“Well, I normally read a book and wait for him to tire himself out. Unfortunately, I didn’t bring one with me today.”

Meanwhile, America stormed through the room, yanking out unoccupied chairs and flinging them at the wall. (Except for one, which didn’t budge despite his efforts, and even seemed to whisper a protest which sounded like, “Stop it, Al! You’re being immature!” though it was impossible to hear anything clearly over America’s screeching.)

“We can’t afford to do that!” Germany snapped, wincing as the next chair went smashing against the wall. “Should I try and restrain him?”

“Oh, it’s going to be one of _those_ mornings, is it?” England muttered under his breath. "No, let me," he said to Germany as he rose up, briefly readjusting his suit. “America!” he barked.

America turned to face him, going silent for a fraction of a second, before resuming his screeching, though now it seemed mostly for show as he watched England from the corner of his eye.

“That is _enough!_ You have three seconds to settle down and get back to your seat. One…”

America kicked at the wall. “No!”

“Two…”

“ _No!_ ”

“Three…”

“No! _Nonononono!_ You can’t make me, England!” America gave the wall another kick.

“I said, ‘three’, America. Are you going to return to your seat and settle down for the rest of the day?”

America shook his head petulantly.

“Well, you must know what happens now.”

England marched forward, seized America’s arm, and wrenched it outward. Holding it at full display, he pinched the sensitive skin at America’s wrist. Nearly everyone held their breath. It would be simple enough for America to snap England’s wrist and slam him into the wall. Instead, America let out a strangled sob.

“ _Ow!_ England, that _hurts!_ ”

“It bloody well should! Look at the mess you’ve made! Who do you expect to clean this?”

America averted his eyes. “I just wanted Mc—!”

“—Oh, no! Don’t you go there! If you mention that word one more time I will never take you there again!”

America opened his mouth, decided against it, and clamped it shut. "This is so _unfair!_ "

“In that case, I've decided you shan’t eat there for the rest of the month. From now on, you will stay at _my_ home and eat whatever _I_ prepare for you.”

“But, Eng- _land!_ ”

“Don’t give me any ‘But Englands’! You've caused too much damage for me to feel sorry for you. I want you to apologize to everyone here for your behavior. And afterwards, I want you to go outside, sit on the floor, and think about what you did for the next hour.”

America drew back. “I don’t wanna be in timeout! You can’t make me! You can’t—” He broke off into another yelp as England pinched him a second time.

"Well then," England said, pivoting America around to face everyone else in the room. "What do you say?"

"'M sorry," America mumbled, staring sheepishly down at his feet.

"Good." And then, everyone was amazed for a second time when England took hold of America’s arm, pulled him out the door, and then shoved him to the ground. America stared down at his hands dismally, hugging his knees and looking every bit an oversized puppy.

What England said to him next was inaudible, due to the soundproof nature of the room, but by the way America bit his lower lip and cowered, occasionally flinching, it was clear that the scolding wasn’t gentle.

Finally, England reentered the room. He brushed his hands off and took his seat. “So,” he said, as if nothing had happened, “I believe McDonalds was ruled out. Are there any other suggestions?”


End file.
